


Braided

by ShannonPhillips



Series: A Little Less Attitude and a Little More Altitude [7]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Beards (Facial Hair), Body Hair, F/M, Mutual Masturbation, Non-Penetrative Sex, Pubic Hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 17:31:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4675304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShannonPhillips/pseuds/ShannonPhillips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slowly, lightly, again and again, she brushed her hand over his hair, sometimes twining her fingers through its length before letting it fall back against his neck and shoulder. Once or twice her fingers traced the line of his jaw, running over his morning stubble and stroking his beard. Her touch sent a pleasant, tingling shiver over his skin, and finally Kanan sighed in contentment and opened his eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Braided

Kanan drifted into wakefulness with a slow, luxurious sense of anticipation. That alone was rare. Usually he woke suddenly and completely: he’d spent long enough surrounded by danger that his body and mind both resisted the vulnerability of sleep.

But even in those groggy moments before he remembered where—and with whom—he’d spent the night before, he was filled with a relaxed and satiated sense of warmth. Safety. Happiness.

Then he registered the sensation of Hera’s fingers pulling gently through his hair. They’d spent the night cradled close together on her narrow bunk. She must have woken first, but she’d made no attempt to disentangle herself; instead, she was exploring the contours of his scalp, and combing through his hair with a delicate touch.

He didn’t want her to stop, so he kept his eyes closed, and his breathing deep and even. Slowly, lightly, again and again, she brushed her hand over his hair, sometimes twining her fingers through its length before letting it fall back against his neck and shoulder. Once or twice her fingers traced the line of his jaw, running over his morning stubble and stroking his beard. Her touch sent a pleasant, tingling shiver over his skin, and finally Kanan sighed in contentment and opened his eyes.

She smiled up at him. They were both lying on their sides, facing each other, legs intertwined. One of his arms was hooked around her waist, and her head rested on the other. He could feel some soreness in his lower back from holding a cramped position all night, and the shoulder beneath Hera’s head had gone a bit numb—but it was also the best night’s sleep he’d had in many, many years.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Mmm,” she said, “You have hair so many places. And it’s all _different_. Here it’s soft, and fine”—she pushed a lock of hair back from his forehead, then moved her fingers to his forehead, tracing over his brows—“and here it’s thicker, stronger. You even have hair on your _eyes_!”

Her finger flicked over his eyelashes, and Kanan couldn’t help but flinch back: “Oh,” Hera said at once. “I’m sorry—” But he caught her hand before she could draw back.

“It’s just ticklish,” he said, and pulled her fingers back to his face. “Go ahead, I’ll try to hold still.”

“No, no,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to…it’s all right.”

“You let me—” Kanan said, and then failed entirely to finish the thought: the memories of how, exactly, she had let him explore her body were far too immediate and vivid for words. He remembered stroking her lekku, kissing down the length of them, making her shudder and moan. He remembered touching and tasting other parts of her, too.

Pressed against him as she was, Hera couldn’t fail to notice the surge of arousal that accompanied his sudden silence. She laughed, low and throaty, and shifted her weight provacatively.

“Just—” Kanan managed. “Here.” He closed his eyes and placed the tips of her fingers against his lids. Her touch, ruffling his lashes, was light as a butterfly.

“Very fine,” she said. “And yet the hair on your chin is so bristly.”

“I have hair other places too,” he said suggestively.

“I _noticed_ ,” Hera said, and a moment later he felt her fingers raking down the length of his shoulder and arms. He let his eyes drift open again. “This is as soft as the hair on your head,” she said, dragging her fingernails lightly across his forearms. “But shorter. Do you have to keep it trimmed?”

“Nope,” Kanan said. “It takes care of itself.”

“But you do have to cut the hair on your face, right?”

“Not my eyelashes.” He kept talking as she ran her hand back up his arm, and skimmed it across his chest. He just wanted her to keep touching him. “Or my eyebrows, for the most part. But the beard, yes. And the hair on my head. Those keep growing, all the time, so I have to cut them.”

“How do your eyelashes know when to stop growing?”

“Uh, it has something to do with…” He struggled to remember back to his classes on human biology. “The different kinds of hair have different lifecycles. They grow, they die, they fall out, and a new hair grows. The lifecycle of an eyelash is much shorter than the lifecycle of head-hair, so they just never get as long.”

Now she was tracing little circles over his chest, following the contours of the hair that grew there. Her hand kept dipping lower and lower with every pass, until Kanan groaned and shifted his hips—and then those cool, graceful fingers were raking through the thatch of hair that surrounded his cock.

“And see? This is just totally different,” she said.

“Unf,” Kanan agreed.

She grasped a handful, tugging lightly. “What even is the purpose of this?” Her voice was rich and fond.

“Ah…I think it…ahh.” He broke off in a gasp as she dragged her fingernails across his balls, and along the length of his swiftly-hardening cock. “I think it protects against…bacteria…oh, _stars_ , Hera…”

She’d wrapped her hand around him, although her touch was still frustratingly light. She’d been hesitant to touch him firmly the night before, too—almost incredulous when he showed her the amount of pressure he needed. It had been a good clue for him in relation to her own level of sensitivity; he was glad he’d known to be so very gentle, when he was exploring her in return.

But now he laid his own hand on top of hers, encouraging her with a squeeze, and she tightened her grip. “Our tchilla do the same thing,” she said.

“Tchilla—is that—are those the little…” He stumbled, both because he wasn’t sure what words to use, and because what she was doing with her hands had become _very_ distracting. “The, the fringe around your…”

“Mm-hmm,” she said.

It had taken some work, fitting themselves together the night before. On the one hand her extraordinary sensitivity was highly gratifying to him: the lightest of caresses had her writhing and panting. On the other hand, he’d been worried about hurting her. He’d slid a finger inside her, then a second, and her response had been a pleasure so intense it bordered on discomfort. He hadn’t wanted to push any farther than that: maybe, he’d thought, lovemaking for them would always mean mouths and hands and the pressure of skin against skin. There was a world of delight in all those things that would never be exhausted.

But she’d wanted to try _everything_ , and so eventually, after a few false starts, they had found how to make it work. If Hera was very relaxed, if Kanan was very careful, if they went slowly and talked it through—she could take him inside her, much to their mutual delight.

But that would never be what they turned to for a quick release or a small moment of intimacy. And it was not what Hera was leading him towards now. She canted her hips forward as she continued to stroke him, pressing herself against his thigh. Her breath hitched and her eyes fluttered closed.

He moved his free hand to her face, caressing her cheek. “Hera,” he murmured. She made a contented hum. He brushed his lips over the top of her bare head and let his palm slide back to her tchun. Gently, very gently, he stroked her lek from base to tip. She moaned aloud when he flicked his thumb against the smooth rounded end, and tugged at his cock in a more urgent rhythm. His hips twitched in response, grinding into her as she pressed against him; he was afraid for a moment that it would be too much, but she gave a sharp cry of pleasure.

The warmth that Kanan had woken with intensified and spread through his body, spooling out from Hera’s touch. To hold her as she rocked against him—to see her naked and trusting and surrendered to desire, to hear her soft sweet cries— _that_ , even more than her hand working on his cock, pushed him into ecstasy. It was sudden enough that it took him by surprise, or he would have warned her: instead all he could do was groan as the spasms shook him, and his come splashed against the smooth green skin of her thigh.

She didn’t recoil, just held him through the last eddies of climax. He kissed the top of her head again, murmuring against her skin: “Hera,” and “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered, and reached for his hand, guiding it between her legs. He pushed apart her folds—careful, gentle, but insistent, fingers stroking and circling and probing—and she gasped and writhed at his touch. At last she seized against him, shuddering, and buried her face in his shoulder to stifle a scream. He tightened his arms around her until she relaxed again.

“We can’t spend all day in bed,” she said at last, her voice heavy and languid.

“No,” Kanan said regretfully. “For one thing, I’ve lost most of the feeling in my left arm.”

She laughed and lifted her head: he took advantage of the opportunity to shift on his back, pulling her weight to rest on his chest, and finally freeing the pinned arm. He rolled it back against the mattress, grimacing at the pins-and-needles prickles as circulation returned.

Hera stroked his hair again, combing back a few errant strands that had fallen over his cheek. “Still haven’t gotten enough of that?” Kanan quipped.

“Oh, never,” Hera said. “I want to braid it, can I braid it?”

Kanan went momentarily still. It was a long time since he’d worn the padawan braid, and the memory of putting that plait in his hair was bound up with many others—memories he mostly preferred to push away.

“Kanan?” Hera asked gently, and he blinked and refocused his attention on her.

“You can do anything you want to me,” he told her, and though he’d meant to the line to be arch and flirtatious, it rang instead with a direct and simple truth. Her face softened.

“There are all kinds of things humans do with their hair,” she said. “I’m going to watch some holovids and learn how to do an Alderaanian twist.”

“You can do anything you want to me _in private_ ,” Kanan clarified. “I’m not going to wind up in some seedy cantina wearing three buns and flowers in my beard.”

“But you’d look so fetching,” Hera said, eyes dancing with mischief.

“Of course I would,” he agreed. “Not going to happen.”

She gave a mock sigh and sat up, swinging her legs off the edge of the bunk. “I’m going to clean up and check on the crew.”

He pushed himself up on one arm, pressing one last kiss against her bare shoulder. “I’ll meet you in the cockpit,” he said.

When she’d gone, he started on his normal morning routine: washing, shaving, combing his hair back into its accustomed ponytail. The memory of her hands on his skin, her fingers tangled in his hair, lingered pleasantly.

 _Alderaanian twists_. So help him, he was looking forward to it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Weirdly, I could find no information on the particularities of Twi'lek genitalia, so I have taken the liberty of inventing some details. For science.


End file.
